


Walk the Rain

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam starts hitting you, it’s not because you ask him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk the Rain

**WALK THE RAIN**  
SUPERNATURAL  
John/Dean/Sam  
 **WARNINGS** : pre-series AU; possible non-con

  
I.

When Sam starts hitting you, it’s not because you ask him. He murmurs your father’s name into your hair, but it’s your face he bruises, the blue marks against your sallow skin, the smudges beneath your sunken eyes. He tastes flesh with his fist, but you don’t cry out and you don’t ask him to stop, even when your lips start saying, “Please.”

Even when your lips start begging, “Please,” blood on your teeth and tongue, sharp in your mouth, your hands soft on his chest.

He never kisses you, but that’s all part of the joke, anyway.

  
II.

Your father says, “I have a present for you,” hands sliding soft against your stomach.

You just can’t stop laughing.

  
III.

You teach Sammy how to kiss by pressing your lips quietly against his, your thumb stroking wide across his cheekbone. You say, “Like this,” sucking on his bottom lip, biting slow.

Sammy says, “Wow.”

Your palm pressing against his thigh, you can feel the heat from his hard-on, but your fingers don’t move no matter how much you want them to. Your heartbeat goes thump-thump in your chest.

Sammy says, “Wow,” and you have to look away.

  
IV.

Your father moans, “Dean,” his hands on you, his mouth against yours, your neck stretched long, your hands reaching out. He’s searing your skin with his touch, choking your breath with his heat.

And it’s just not that funny anymore.

  
V.

Sam takes a sip from his stolen bottle of whiskey, looks you straight in the eye, and says, “I know what you do.” Pointing his finger, squinting his eyes, he reeks of alcohol, sweat, blood. His face is flushed, his hands are shaking.

He says, “I’ve known for a while.”

He says, “It’s fucking sick.”

He doesn’t say, “I wanted him first.”

You wonder if this is supposed to be normal, if this is what other families do, this twisted triangle, but, that look in Sam’s eyes, his red mouth, you’ve never seen that on TV.

  
VI.

Your father doesn’t say anything about it, Sam’s drunken confession, doesn’t tell you that he knows this is wrong, doesn’t say he’s fucking sorry, but you don’t stop his hands from touching you.

You say, “Sam. Sam. Sam.”

  
VII.

Sam leaves for Stanford and lets two years go by before he calls you, sobbing into the phone, saying, breathlessly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You wish you could smell the alcohol through the receiver, your fingers pushing hard into your palms, cutting skin.

Sammy saying, “I wish I had known.” His breath in your ear, and if your bloody hand leaves stains on your jeans, on the zipper of your fly, well, it’s not your fault.

Sammy saying, “I wish I could have stopped him.”

Sammy saying, “It’s all my fault.”

You hang up right before you come, teeth sharp against the insides of your cheeks.

  
VIII.

Your father says, “I have a present for you,” mouth tight around the bottom of your ear, fingers plucking at the belt loops of your jeans, pulling you close. You clench your eyes shut, think of Sam’s gentle mouth.

Jesus, this is getting fucking old.

  
IX.

Sam keeps sending you text messages that say, Where R U?

R U OK?

You never answer, but your father stops paying the phone bill, anyway.

  
X.

The day your father goes missing, you show up at your brother’s apartment, beg him to help you look for him, forlorn, despondent, whiskey on your breath, the car keys eating at your palm from the tightness of your grip.

Sam says, “Why?”

And you close your mouth around his, your hands hard in his hair, his arms around you, and when you break for air, your breath shallow against his chin, you say, “Because.”

Sam’s eyes shut, his lashes tickling your cheek, his mouth, your teeth biting down so hard, Sam’s hands are on you, but you’re thinking, Dad. Dad. Dad.

And you say, “Because I love him.”


End file.
